Make Things Right
by raydyan
Summary: Booth and Brennan learn to make things right as they solve a murder and deal with personal conflicts that resulted from her father’s parting words.
1. Chapter 1

**_Make Things Right_**

Genre: Drama/Romance – Booth and Brennan pairing

Summary: Booth and Brennan learn to make things right as they solve a murder and deal with personal conflicts that resulted from her father's parting words.

Timeline: Set after 'The Man in the Cell'. 'The Girl in the Gator' is interpreted my way. The story starts there, but heads off on its own after that.

Disclaimer: The characters of Bones belong to Kathy Reichs, Hart Hanson, Barry Josephson and FOX.

* * *

_Chapter 1_

Silence filled the drive towards the Florida Everglades. It was as if the humid air, unusual in this time of the year, made breathing and talking too difficult. It seemed that the lush green vegetations and shallow water of the swamps worked to fool the senses to slow down the synaptic connections in the brain.

It could also be that Brennan's partner, and friend, was in a lousy mood.

Booth had been behaving differently since the last case they worked on, which ended up with Epps hanging from his grasp and falling off the balcony to his death. Brennan had tried to remind Booth that it wasn't his fault that Epps jumped off, but the stubborn man still had this idea that he was somehow responsible for the serial killer's death.

The black cloud hovering inside the car made Brennan want to choke. "So, they found a body inside an alligator?" She asked, hoping to engage Booth in a conversation.

Booth readjusted his sunglasses, taking his time before answering, "That's what I said earlier, Bones."

"So what happened?"

"I know just as much as you do."

Brennan slumped back in her seat, giving up attempts to create some sort of comfortable silence that she had gotten used to. She looked outside and tried to lower the passenger side window to dispel the thick air that was smothering her. A few mosquitoes tried to get in, and with a sigh, she rolled the windows back up. Sometimes, she just didn't understand the man.

* * *

With her blue rubber gloves, Brennan crouched next to the alligator's mouth, trying to pry a piece of metal that had gotten stuck. She searched around for Booth when she found a necklace, surprisingly intact despite the circumstances.

Booth had his back towards her, talking to the sheriff and directing some of the local law enforcements. No one had doubts about who was in charge, with his large frame and confident stance, Booth was definitely in his element.

"Booth!"

As always, he answered Brennan's call in a heartbeat, walking towards her as soon as he heard his name.

"What have you got, Bones?"

She showed him the necklace, opening the locket that revealed a picture of a father and daughter inside. "I think it's our victim's."

Booth took an evidence bag from Brennan's kit and leaned down so she could drop the necklace inside. He tried to peer down and look at the alligator's mouth. "Anything else in there?"

Brennan kneeled back down, making large sweeping movements with her hand. She shook her head. "Okay, this alligator is ready for transport."

The team she had called earlier arrived with large crates and plenty of ice. Booth and Brennan stepped aside to make way for five men in attires that looked like plastic suits. They loaded the alligator with competent ease that Brennan declared, "I'm going to take samples of the water and grounds around this area."

Booth handed her thick black boots which she took one at a time. She slipped each leg inside while holding on to the arm that Booth offered her. "Thanks."

"Don't go too far, stay where I can see you." He ordered before going back to the sheriff who was watching the two of them with amusement. Brennan sighed; her partner could be so bossy.

Brennan held on to a tree branch as she descended into the water which almost reached the top of her boots. She tried to keep her pants dry as she scooped water sample inside the test tube. She was examining the greenish, murky content when she heard Booth calling for her.

"Bones!"

The sound was getting closer; she could almost hear the desperate tone. "Bones, where are you?" Poor guy, didn't he know she could take care of herself?

"Bones!"

"I'm right here, Booth." She tried to even out her frown as she used her most reasonable tone to respond to the very large male hovering precociously close to the edge of dry land. She could make out Booth's expensive suit in between two trees that prevented him from seeing her fully.

He swept a branch out of his way. "Didn't I say that you need to stay where I can see you?"

Brennan rolled her eyes and put the test tube in her coat pocket. She reached for a tree branch to propel herself back to land, but Booth grabbed her shoulders and hauled her up.

"You're irritating, you know that?" She said as she brushed pass him. This morning he wouldn't speak to her, and now he was being so…so male.

Since Booth had larger strides, he soon caught up with her to block her way with wide shoulders. He glared down.

She glared back up and crossed her arms.

"Jesus Christ!" He took both shoulders and shook her gently. "When are you ever going to listen to me?"

"I thought you're not supposed to use your God's name in vain?"

Booth's eyes popped open. "You are quite something, Bones. You know that?"

With tongue in cheek, she said. "Yes I do. I know about a lot of things." She shook her shoulders, disengaging from Booth's grip. "Out of my way, Booth."

When he did as asked, Brennan quickly walked away. She was careful to hop over a dead tree, struck by lightning perhaps, which had fallen on the ground covered with leaves that made crunching sounds with each step.

"Just promise me you'll stay in sight." Booth called out.

"No!" She yelled without looking back. Since the incidence on the balcony with Epps, she noticed that Booth had a sudden obsession to know where she was at all times. He would drop by the lab for no reason, or call her in the middle of the night to ask her a 'work-related' question that could wait until morning. Maybe the shrink he was scheduled to see when they got back to Washington would help. She didn't put much credence in psychology but Booth's behavior had got to stop; even if that meant talking to a shrink.

Booth caught up with her again. This time, he stood in front of her, very closely, and quite menacingly. "No?"

She held her ground. "No."

Before she knew it, Booth's lips were on hers and he held her against him by pressing her lower back towards his middle. He bit her lower lip gently and she opened her mouth as she gasped, letting his tongue meet with hers.

Before she could process the cacophony of sensations the brief contact made, he stopped and whispered close to her ears. "The next time you want to give me attitude, I'll do worse. Do you hear me, Temperance?"

She heard him so she nodded a couple of times. It didn't mean she understood, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

Satisfied, he adjusted his tie and walked back to the car.

She touched her lips with her forefinger, feeling the heat, wetness and tingling left there by Booth's kiss. The man had nerve! He couldn't just kiss her senseless and walk away.

Stomping, she followed him to the car after making sure that her alligator was safe and secure for transport. Seating on the passenger side, she put her seatbelt and declared. "You can't just kiss me senseless and walk away."

Booth shook his head, pressed his palms against both lids and leaned back on the headrest. "Bones – that was precisely what I did."

She turned to him, "You can't tell me that people at high risk situations can't be in a relationship, and then kiss me the next day." She tapped his shoulder and when he looked at her, she continued, "It confuses me, Booth."

"That makes two of us."

"What?"

Letting out a sigh, Booth turned the engine and backed up on the main road to head back to their rented hotel room. "Bones, let's just forget this whole thing happened. I wasn't thinking clearly. You frustrate me so much that I don't know what to do with you sometimes."

Brennan tried to process what Booth was saying and reflected back to their kiss. It was a highly charged situation and with lack of alternative options and a few pheromones thrown in the mix to increase sexual sensitivity – yeah she could see why Booth would kiss her. "Okay, Booth. I understand. You were merely reacting to a highly stimulating confrontation."

She nodded once, relieved that once again, her world made sense. It was much better this way, when she acknowledged that Booth didn't like her that way and she pretended that she didn't care. She didn't have enough emotional capacity to interpret every touch or look as something more than what they were. Sure, she wasn't far removed from human emotions to be immune from his smiles and hugs, both of which gave comfort and warm feelings in her heart. But she knew where she stood; he had made that clear many times.

So she didn't understand why Booth gave her a darkened look, the terse atmosphere back again as they drove away.

* * *

Brennan locked her self in the bathroom for a bubble bath and let Booth walk off his mood. They hadn't shared another word since he slammed the car door and murmured that he needed air. That was five hours ago and she hadn't heard the door open to signal Booth's arrival.

"Bones, how long are you going to be in there?"

Brennan must have dozed off and was too relaxed from the bath to be irritated, "Just a minute, I'm done." She stepped out of the bathtub, leaving bubbles on the floor as she tied a white fluffy bathrobe around her.

"We need to talk." His eyes were dark, and shoulders defeated, like he ran an uphill road to search for something, only to find out that the answer to his quest was what he'd known all along.

Despite the low light coming from the lampshade, Brennan could still see that half of Booth's shirt was unbuttoned, and his tie had long been disposed. His usually coiffed hair looked like it had been mussed frequently by trembling hands.

Her heart ached for him. Brennan didn't know the first thing about comforting someone, but she knew Booth was at an end of a struggle he'd been having with himself. She wasn't sure who won.

Booth looked at her like he was seeing her face for the first time, like he was memorizing each part of her. Her breathing increased in response to the intense male gaze. Brennan didn't have very much experience with relationships, but she didn't need Booth's special gift of reading people to recognize that they were teetering on a fine line of passion, the kind that starts in a flash of light and quickly turns to smoldering flames.

Booth had that look about him, and Brennan knew with absolute certainty that if one of them wasn't careful, they would throw an accelerant in the fire and she would end up against the wall, his mouth on her breast and his fullness inside of her.

She backed up a few steps, then forward again, trying not to spark any fire that could cause both of them to get burnt. "Okay, we'll talk..."

She thought that response was safe enough; she should have known that just being in close proximity with him caused sparks on its own.

Booth's lips were on hers before she finished. His kisses were urgent and hungry, deepening as he cupped her face between both hands.

Brennan's eyes flew open, startled, but instincts guided her to close them to intensify the feeling of having Booth kiss her for the second time that day.

As quickly as he took her lips, Booth stopped and rested his forehead against hers. "Okay." He whispered, almost talking to himself. "Okay, I know how to do this."

"What…?"

"I'm making things right, Temperance. I want to make things right with you. Will you let me do that?"

She saw the sincerity in his eyes, the plea and need to soothe and be forgiven. How could she ever turn him away when he looked at her like that – like she was a lifeline, an anchor that could save a sinking boat? She guided him back to her lips and whispered "Okay."

* * *

Author's Note: Reviews make me smile : ) 


	2. Chapter 2

**_Make Things Right_**

Author's Note: Thank you for the feedback – they do make my day : )

Rating: A very strong T, I think.

* * *

_Chapter 2_

"Okay." Brennan whispered, and Booth almost sagged with relief. He thought that making things right meant severing any close ties with her, preventing them from compromising their work relationship. For months now, he had been struggling, grasping at anything to push her away.

But it was too late.

She was already under his skin, inside his mind, her name a constant word from his lips. She filled his every day and night. But he didn't know how to tell her. How could he explain something he himself couldn't intellectually understand? He just knew somewhere within his soul that she belonged with him.

Brennan was responding to his kisses, in the same hot urgency he was taking her. She knew about endorphins and chemical reactions that made sexual intercourse pleasurable. But this wasn't about physical release as she understood, the way she was casual, almost blunt, about sex.

It was never about sex, nor would it ever be.

Booth tried to slow down; he couldn't put to words what he felt, nor tell her in ways she understood. He could only explain in ways he knew how, by showing her how much she meant to him. How right this was between the two of them.

He slowed his kisses, nipping her lower lip instead of devouring her mouth. He heard her whimper of protest; she liked it hard and fast, not understanding that slow and sweet could take the mating act to another plane of connection that words could never do.

He kissed her cheeks after rubbing his knuckles against the softness of her skin, like chocolate velvet, so creamy and sweet. He gave her a kiss that said he adored her; that he saw her as a child, as a daughter, as a friend, as a worker, and as the many roles she played – and he adored each one of them.

He kissed her closed lids, her long lashes tickling his lips, like she sometimes tickled him with the ridiculous things she said. He kissed each lid, a kiss that said he sometimes wished he saw the world through her eyes; eyes far removed from popular culture that she saw the innocence and truth in life so often tainted by manipulations of the pop-brainwashed mind.

He kissed along her jaw, down to the elegant lines of her throat, and to the base of her neck, so supple and soft. His head fit there and he nuzzled closer, getting a whiff of strawberry scent. He breathed her in deeply, and grazed his teeth along the cords where blood pumped wildly. He suckled there, hard enough to make a mark. He used his tongue to soothe, swirling it around to appease…but making a claim nonetheless. He kissed her where he'd left his mark, a kiss that said to the world that she was his.

He kissed along the lines of her robe, gently nudging it away so that the last press of his lips exposed cream colored breasts with tips that begged attention. He used his tongue, wet and heavy, to circle his way from the base and finally to where she wanted him to be, with her hand clutching his hair and guiding him towards the life source of her. She moaned out load, and his body throbbed in response. He suckled and teased, as if each tug drew life from her and into him, making clear any doubts that clouded his brain. He kissed each tip, using tongue, and lips, and teeth. He planted kisses that said he knew, had always known, that she was a woman; a desirable woman that from the very first sight of her, his body recognized a mate.

He kissed along her navel and down, realizing she hadn't put anything on except the white robe that made her look like sin in a pool of white haven. He kneeled between her legs; in worship, begging for forgiveness, pleading to have a wish granted. Perhaps he kneeled for all three.

Brennan looked at him intently, seeing him for everything he was; his confusion and need and certainty. He closed his eyes; he was at her mercy and his sanity in her hands.

He felt shaky fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, and pants. The sureness she showed earlier was gone, replaced by tentative movements, waiting for him to guide her. This was new territory for her, for both of them. But Booth knew where they were going, where he wanted them to go, so he showed her.

Flesh against flesh, side by side, he lay with her. He claimed her breast in his hand, and she rested her head on his shoulder, shuddering with each knead. He touched to show he wanted her – wanted to know her, to feel her, to taste her, to hear her, to see her, and to be inside of her.

Flesh against flesh, his touch reached her waist and lower back, pressing her against him even more. Their hips touched, anticipating what was to come. He made circling motions on her back as he dropped kisses on her shoulder. He kneaded her hips, drawing her closer to him in the rhythm of a music made only for them. In all the times he'd known her, and oh so casually led her, and oh so casually touched her, he wanted to show that she was his.

"Mine." He whispered against her ear; softly, decisively, and uncompromising.

Flesh against flesh, he drew her knees up and over him, touching her thigh and the back of her knee, causing her to tremble as he discovered a ticklish spot. He touched all the way to her feet, lowering himself to plant a kiss inside each arch; another spot he learned was sensitive to butterfly tease.

He opened her legs and kissed her in her essence. He whispered her name in gratitude, for trusting him with her most sacred gift. The intimacy, and exclusivity, of her giving did not escape him.

"Booth."

He knew she was searching for words, but none was needed. It was enough to have his name whispered in soft surrender as he filled her with himself.

Brennan's dampness eased his entrance, and slowly, ever so gently, she took him in completely. And he never wanted to be anywhere else. She received and met each thrust, her centre making a cradle of heaven only for him. She whimpered each time, both her knees pressing against his thighs, allowing him to take her deeper and fuller.

The bed rocked to the pulse of their taking, the sheets swirled in response to clutched hands holding on for dear life. Strawberry scent mingled with heated lust, his and hers, and both of theirs. Silhouettes on the wall danced to an ancient song, to timeless tunes made from the heart, to ageless music from deep within the core. Pleading murmurs ended in sweet release of breaths and satisfied drumming of hearts.

Booth held Brennan in his arms, knowing that she belonged there. Knowing that he'd finally made things right between them.

* * *

Max Keenan circled the hotel one last time, a two story building decorated in Spanish-villa style. He was hidden under the shade of trees that lined the road; the light posts surrounding the full parking lot were not strongly lit to reveal him. He wasn't sure which window belonged to his daughter, but most guests had turned their lights off for the night.

Keenan witnessed Booth and Brennan's earlier tiff, which ended with doors slamming and Booth wandering aimlessly around the park beside the hotel. Booth looked like a torn man, in contrast to the animated locals who walked their dogs around the park. He ended up heading into the wooded surroundings, only to return hours later, looking more forlorn.

It had grown darker now, and neither Booth nor Brennan had left the hotel. Keenan hoped that his daughter and her partner had worked out their differences. He liked Booth, and trusted him to take care of her.

Sometimes, however, he just needed to see for himself that his little girl was safe; especially when she went out of town where she became a more vulnerable prey. But Keenan's rounds revealed no danger.

Driving away, Keenan headed to route 95 for St. Augustine. There was another reason he decided to come to Florida, not only to ensure that Brennan was well, but also to finish some business that had been haunting him for 15 years.

Russ was safe in hiding and Brennan had Booth's protection. Keenan promised his wife that when the time was right, he would come forward with evidence against one of the most powerful men in North America. It was finally time to come out of retirement for one last adventure.

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry, there wasn't too much dialogue there. I sincerely hope it wasn't too painful to read. As always, feedback would be nice : )_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Make Things Right_**

Author's Note: Thank you for the very thoughtful notes I received for last chapter : ) It's always hard to write a scene like that, so I'm glad most of you liked it. A lighter chapter this time : )

* * *

_Chapter 3_

Sleeping in was one Brennan's few indulgences, so she burrowed closer to the warm body behind her and pulled up the covers under her chin to cocoon herself in borrowed bliss. Sunshine fought desperately to come through the blinds, without very much success, much to her contentment.

Booth's arm was around her waist, and he appeared to be asleep. It was so tempting to stay this way, but being her conscientious self, Brennan peeked through lined covers to discover the alarm clock reading 7:15. They needed to catch a flight in a few hours.

Brennan carefully lifted Booth's arm to slip out of bed unnoticed. He shifted in his sleep, with one hand over his head, and the blanket covering his lower half. Brennan licked her lips; she wasn't above appreciating good genes.

Naked, she covered herself with the bathrobe discarded on the side of the bed. She went through her luggage and picked out an outfit for the day, choosing a deep purple spaghetti-strapped top, jeans and a black tailored jacket. She had learned her lesson that coming out of the bathroom with nothing on would end up with her on bed, with Booth, again.

With a small smile, she almost didn't bring her clothes with her; almost.

In the shower, Brennan let warm water flow through her, adjusting the dial to increase the temperature to her liking. She stood there for a long time, letting the water do its job of easing aches caused by last night's, and early morning's, and a time in between's semi-permanent lapse of good judgment.

Reading between the lines wasn't Brennan's strongest point, in fact, she was severely impaired in that area. So it relieved her to find that her mind was surprisingly calm, the pleasure centre in her amygdala still in control over the more rational part of her frontal lobe.

She smiled again as she rubbed her skin with loofah drizzled with shower gel. The fruity smell replaced Booth's scent, but not the lingering effects of his touch that made her feel...happy. Getting out of the shower when the water run tepid, she got dressed and collected her toiletries off the counter. Brennan left the shampoo, soap and toothpaste for Booth's use.

She was surprised to see the bed empty when she stepped out of the bathroom, but was quickly distracted by her cell phone.

"Brennan." She tossed some clothes from the floor and into her luggage, pleased to see that all of Booth's things were still in the room.

"Sweetie, it's me. I've got a lead for you and Booth."

Brennan stood in front the mirror and dusted some powder on her cheeks. "Booth's not here right now, but I'm listening."

"The gator arrived late yesterday afternoon – everyone was so excited! We couldn't help but cut it open. I mean, it's got frogs and football with music…"

It was a difficult task to put eye shadow and keep Angela on track, but as always, Brennan succeeded, "The lead, Angela."

"Sorry. Zach confirmed that there was a human skull inside the gator. I did a facial reconstruction, and we found a match with a girl from Missing Persons."

"Great job!" Brennan pressed her lips together to blend the cherry-colored lip balm.

"Thanks. I sent the info to Booth's phone so he can do his thing."

Brennan examined the finished product of her efforts, biting her lower lip as she looked at the image on the mirror. She didn't think she was beautiful, but today, she looked a tad bit better than usual. "Okay, we'll be taking the 10 o'clock flight so I should be at the Jeffersonian soon."

"Okay, see you later."

"Uhhh…Angela?"

"Bren?"

She chuckled at the way Angela pronounced her name. "Are you happy, with Hodgins?"

"I'm living on sex and laughter, of course, I'm happy." There was mirth in Angela's tone, indicating that she was half-joking; Brennan knew her friend well enough to realize that there was truth in Angela's words.

Brennan smiled. "I know, that's a given. I mean, happy…inside."

Angela paused, gauging her words. "I've learned one thing since my first date with Jack…sometimes….sometimes, when things are going well…you just need to give yourself permission to feel. Do you know what I mean? Let life surprise you about how good things can get…let things unfold and just be…grateful. In the moment. Life almost always turns out to be better than what we can come up with if we just let it be."

Sensing that Brennan was asking about men, Booth in particular, Angela added, "Especially guys…even a tough one, somewhere inside, there's still a little boy. That's mostly bad, but the good thing is…if you let them like you a lot, maybe even love you, then they're yours forever." Angela ended with a wistful note.

But with a sigh, she added, "Now, you and I both know that there's no such thing as forever. But they make you believe in it, and for that period of time when you believe, it makes it worth the heartbreak when you're reminded that they're human too, and they make mistakes, and they can hurt you."

When Brennan didn't respond, Angela asked, "Did you sleep with Booth?"

"Angela."

"Okay, you don't have to tell me now, but you listen to me. If someone wants you, or lusts after you, and God forbid, even loves you – then you let them. There's no more grandiosity in this life, Brennan. No more princes who'll slay the dragons and neither are we Cinderella. So pay attention to the little things, 'cause most of the times, they're all we've got; and all the time, they're more than enough."

"Okay." Brennan continued to look at the mirror, imagining what Booth saw when he looked at her. She wasn't sure, he hadn't said very much with words. But she knew herself well enough to know that his touches went beyond its feel on her skin. They reached a deeper part of her that someone had not connected with since her youth, a time when the world made her feel safe and she trusted it implicitly. And this morning, nothing and everything changed – nothing because somewhere in between their banter and crime-solving days, she had already opened a part of her to him, and everything because they finally did something about it.

"Where is Booth, anyway?"

Brennan heard the lock and looked expectantly at the door. "He's on his way in, I'll call you later." She hung up, her cell phone clutched in front of her chest, holding her breath.

Booth came in with a brown bag and two cups of coffee. Their eyes met. He smiled, tenderly, uncertain.

She let out a breath and smiled back.

"Hey. Coffee?" He looked like he was offering her the world, rocking on his heels, afraid she wouldn't take it. But when he smiled at her like that, she could almost see the little boy that Angela was talking about; adoring her and asking her to like him back.

Brennan pretended to think about it, seeing the amusement in his eyes when he realized she was teasing. She recognized the cup and the smell of her favorite drink, "Chai soy latte?"

Booth nodded enthusiastically, happy to get it right. "Of course." He walked towards her, pausing close enough so he could lean forward for a quick kiss on the lips. Grinning, he remarked, "You smell good."

"Thanks." Brennan responded, both to his complement, and the coffee he finally handed her. She smelled the aroma of her drink before taking a sip, giving an appreciative sigh.

"I got you some food. You can eat while I take a shower."

Brennan took a seat, selecting a bran and carrot muffin from the bag. "Angela called, she has ID on the victim."

Booth's response was muffled by running water in the sink, but she still heard him when he said, "She sent some information on my phone. The FBI is faxing us details soon."

As if on cue, the fax machine rung and started printing.

Brennan took another bite, enjoying the crunchy top of the muffin, not so much the spongy bottom. She started reading the pages, noting that the victim and her father lived in Georgia. The shower turned on and off, and soon, Booth joined her in the room. He too smelled good. She didn't tell him, though.

"Booth, the victim's father lives in Georgia, close to Atlanta. We should fly there instead of going back to D.C." She pointed on the top corner of the first page where the address was listed.

Booth took a seat beside the fax machine, and tugged Brennan to sit on his lap, dropping a kiss on her exposed shoulder before examining the rest of the pages. "I can't, Bones. I have a meeting with the shrink this afternoon."

Brennan stood back up and gave Booth a thorough examination. The light was back in his eyes, and he looked well. In fact, he looked very well. "Why do you need a shrink for? You seem to be feeling better."

With a grin, Booth responded. "You have that effect on me."

Brennan continued speed-reading through the information. "I thought I frustrate you?"

"Only sometimes."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, more than sometimes."

Finally finished, she handed all the papers to Booth who put it in his bag, along with the rest of his things. "Alright, I can meet the victim's father in Atlanta. You can take the flight back to D.C. and talk to your shrink."

Looking around to see that they hadn't left anything, Booth replied, "I'll have an agent meet you at the FBI headquarters."

"You don't have to, Booth. I can do the questioning." Brennan let Booth open the door for her.

Booth playfully hit Brennan's bottom as he propelled them towards the car. "We'll just pretend that this is an FBI matter, and have an agent there, okay Bones?"

She nudged his hand away. "Fine."

In the middle of the parking lot, Brennan paused, as if realizing that she had forgotten something very important. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"I thought you wanted to talk, about, you know."

"Yeah, but doing was much more fun, didn't you think?"

Brennan chuckled and punched him playfully on the shoulder.

Booth caught her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. She tugged it back, he didn't let go, so they walked hand in hand to the car.

* * *

_Author's Note: As always, feedback would be nice : )_


	4. Chapter 4

**Make Things Right**

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, they're a treat : ) Here's some background for my main plot.

* * *

_Chapter 4_

Max Keenan arrived at St. Augustine by sunrise, witnessing the little town wake up to the tourists wanting to visit America's oldest city. Patriotic flags danced lightly to the early morning breeze atop wooden balconies on St. George Street. Keenan felt like he had stepped through time and landed in mid 18th century America courtesy of colonial Spanish quarters that made up the city.

Keenan passed through the city and continued driving east to the beaches where the sun was rising, displaying a burst of yellow, orange and red on the sky that spilled on top of the Atlantic Ocean and made the surface glitter with fire.

The St. Augustine Lighthouse towered along the shoreline, with its conical shaped tower that boasted a red top, and blue spirals along its body. Keenan saw his destination with no difficulties. Like the explorers who came before him, he used the tower to find his way. The lighthouse beckoned to him like a guide as he entreated for a safe harbor.

Picking up the black attaché case on the passenger seat, Keenan discreetly entered through the side door, a sign dangled indicating that the lighthouse was still closed. He unlocked the door with skills he acquired from his days as a burglar, shutting it behind him as he used the morning rays to guide his way in the dark interiors. He went up the spiral stairways to the small museum that held archives and records of St. Augustine's history. Keenan's movements were quick and efficient as he took out tools to cut out the bottom of one of the display tables.

The wooden table that displayed an 1890 sketch of the lighthouse rattled as Keenan kneeled in front of it to fit the case underneath. The case was rectangular and black with three key holes along the front edge.

He took care not to break the glass cover. With expert ease, he replaced the bottom that he had cut out, keeping the case hidden inside. To anyone, the table appeared untouched, but to three people, the table would signal the end of their quest.

Satisfied that the case was well hidden, Keenan cleaned off the dust on the floor and reset the alarms on his way out. He patted his back pocket to ensure that the master list was there.

For fifteen years, he was the only person who knew the location of the keys that would open the case. Now, everything was out of his hands; Keenan hoped that he entrusted his knowledge to the right people.

* * *

Booth tossed the stir fry around the pan, topping it with more soy sauce and Tabasco to suit his taste. He popped a green pepper in his mouth, nodding his head approvingly as each bite revealed a crunchy texture and good taste to his palate.

He transferred the vegetables on the plate, pouring it over a bed of white rice. He didn't cook very much, but there were a few dishes he knew how to do. He initially learned them to impress the ladies, but kept up with it to sustain himself.

Booth walked toward the couch in his living room, putting his foot up on the ottoman and placing the plate on his lap. He turned on the television to listen to the 11:00 news as he ate a late dinner.

_"James McMillan has now acquired another television outlet, totaling his control of the media to 62 of the market share. Protestors are lobbying in front of the WSB-TV in Atlanta, the station newly bought out by McMillan's empire."_

The camera rolled to show a busy intersection in downtown Atlanta filled with men and women who held posters. Drivers passed through and honked their horns in support.

_"One of the organizers is here with us today. Kris, tell us about the intentions of today's demonstrations."_

_"We're all aware of Mr. McMillan's personal political views, and most of us are concerned that the majority of the media in America, as well as Canada, is run by someone who can manipulate the news to favor a certain political party."_

Booth finished his last bite, drowning the food down with a glass of chocolate milk. He rinsed the plate and glass in the sink, and returned to the living room in search of the portable phone. He found it in between two pillows. He muted the volume of the television and pressed 1 on his speed dial.

"Brennan."

Booth smiled at the sound of her name, "Hey, Bones! Whatcha doin?"

There was rattling on the other side, "I was writing a chapter for my book, but I've just put my laptop down. Now I'm talking to you."

"So, how was your day?" Booth extended his legs fully on the couch, puffing a pillow as he rested it against the sidearm. He leaned against it, settling in comfortably.

"I met Mr. Dowd today, with Sully. I showed him the necklace we found, the one with the picture of him and the victim…he said it was just the two of them. He…he was very upset about his daughter's death."

Booth's expression darkened as he detected the distress in Brennan's voice, "I'm sorry, Bones. I should have been with you today."

Booth knew they had come a long way when Brennan didn't ask for his motives but accepted his support without questions. "It's okay. You're here now."

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"How was your meeting with the shrink?"

"You won't believe it! I spent the entire therapy session building an outdoor barbeque."

"Why?"

"It's got something to do with my control issues and such. Gordon, Gordon said that witnessing Epps death messed up my psyche but that I self-corrected it by regaining control over a part of my life that I felt vulnerable about." Booth didn't add that the latter observation referred to the two of them finally sleeping together.

Brennan sighed. "That, Booth, is nonsensical jargon. What you said made absolutely no sense."

"Don't worry Bones, the only thing you need to be concerned about is that I'm all good – according to Gordon, Gordon."

"Who's that?"

"He's my psychiatrist."

He heard her soft chuckle and couldn't help but wish he could see the light in her eyes that accompanied the sweet sound. "He has a weird name."

"I know." Booth closed his eyes, blocking everything else but the sound of her voice.

"I tried something new today, I had hotdogs from down the street of the FBI building."

Booth smiled, noting the smoky tone in Brennan's voice that made everything she said sound like seduction. "Was it any good?"

"Yeah, it was delicious. Your friend, Sully, is thinking of franchising it."

"So, what did you think of Sully? He's good to work with, huh?"

"He's not you."

Booth wasn't fishing for compliments, but her honest response warmed him. "No...Guess what, Bones, I saw Parker tonight after I finished with Gordon, Gordon."

"Stop calling him that."

"But that's his name. Anyway, I took Parker to the park again and he did really well…"

The re-telling of the story filled the silence in the room. The dim glow of the lampshade remained on until hours later, when the rest of the city had turned off most of its lights. The drizzle of rain outside hit the pavement like an old friend's greeting, and a few stars succeeded in lighting the evening sky. The night's clouds danced with the evening winds, playing hide and seek with the crescent shaped moon. The city had rested, pounding softly to the beat of lovers' hearts.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Good night."

"Good night, Temperance."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Make Things Right**_

Author's Note: Feedback makes my day, so thank you to everyone who hit the purple button…you contribute to my well-being : ) The story will veer off on its own starting this chapter, I hope you find the plot engaging.

* * *

_Chapter 5_

_Attention passengers of US Airways Flight 2284 from Atlanta to Washington. Please note that your departure has been delayed one hour. Please stand by for more information. Thank you. _

Brennan sighed as she looked around the terminal for a restaurant, her stomach growling with hunger. Swinging the black duffel bag on her right shoulder, she spotted a pub brimming with patrons who were also waiting for their designated flight times.

Entering the pub, Brennan passed through a group of middle-aged couples, most of them dressed in appalling mint green and bubble gum pink tank top and shorts. No doubt, they would continue to manifest the notorious reputations Americans had down south regarding bad taste in beach-wear clothing.

Spotting an empty stool at the bar, Brennan settled herself and waited for the college-aged bartender to make his rounds.

Distracted, he finally got to her after several minutes. "What can I get for you?" His head was already on the next customer and his hands busy making a margarita for the previous one.

"A beer, whatever you have on tap. And sweet potato fries, if you have them." Brennan preferred exotic tasting beers, but having traveled extensively, she had come to the realization that airports didn't have very much selection. The fries were for once-in-a-while self indulgence.

The beer sloshed when the waiter slid it on the counter, bubbles running along the length of the glass and making a ring around its bottom. Brennan took it and sipped, enjoying the cool taste in her mouth. She had desperately needed a beer after her last case. It was a tiring one, especially since Booth was working on it from D.C. and she was doing legwork with Agent Sully in Atlanta. She was glad when they finally arrested the preacher for the murder, closing the case about the girl in the alligator.

Eager to go home, Brennan was disappointed to realize that her flight was delayed. She nursed her beer as she waited for the fries. The feeling of missing Booth finally crept in, making her feel uncharacteristically lonely. She had done well the entire week, keeping her mind on her tasks. Now that her head was clear and no pressing issues demanded her attention, Brennan's mind drifted to Booth and the recent change in their relationship. She supposed that they would need to discuss the implications of their night together.

She looked around the pub, enjoying a rare opportunity for people-watching. A favorite past-time, it helped her understand human behavior and brought depth to the characters she created for her book. The bustling noise covered the commentator's reports of the soccer game playing on the multitude of televisions located at each corner of the establishment.

_We interrupt local programming to bring news from downtown Atlanta at the WSB – TV headquarters. The site of a week-long lobbying ended today with a potentially fatal shooting. _

Brennan wasn't sure, but as soon as she heard the news and saw the television flicker from the soccer game to the scene of ambulance and emergency personals rushing through the crowded assembly, a feeling of cold dread enveloped her.

* * *

Keenan, disguised as a homeless man, attempted to camouflage himself and blend with the crowd. He knew better than to come here. Against his better judgment, however, he drove from San Augustine to Atlanta, unable to miss the opportunity to see James McMillan again.

Reporters from various media outlets were busy roaming and interviewing. The scorching heat made everyone restless, and the already irritated protestors had little patience for those who were not in favor of their cause.

"Break it up!" One of the police officers stepped in between two women, while other officers handcuffed each one, leading them inside a cruiser.

Scheduled to provide a press release in a few minutes, McMillan's presence warranted multiple agents discreetly moving with the crowd to ensure his safety. From his spot by an electric pole, a dozen feet or so away from the marked perimeters, Keenan counted the agents he needed to avoid. There were one too many for his liking.

Keenan hadn't seen McMillan in fifteen years. Nevertheless, one never forgot an enemy, particularly since the FBI had a sketch of his face after his plastic surgery. One word from McMillan and a trained agent roaming the WSB –TV compound would be too happy to pull the trigger on him.

A distinguished looking man stepped through the front door of the lobby, silencing the crowd. "Good afternoon."

"Stop the take over!" The crowd chanted, "Stop the take over!"

"I understand your concerns, but let me assure you that the news we bring is untainted and honest. We cannot be bought by political parties."

"Boo!" His speech was hardly heard, "Boo!"

Keenan watched the demonstrations in front of him. He hoped this take-over would be the last one. With the evidence he entrusted three people, it should be enough to keep this man in prison for a very long time.

Pulling the hood over his head, Keenan attempted to walk away. The agents he observed from a distance were alert, examining each face with intent, as if they were looking for someone in particular.

Keenan had a terrible feeling that they were looking for him. He suspected that he made a mistake; one of the individuals he trusted with the location of the key was working with McMillan.

He quickened his pace without drawing attention, but he had underestimated a desperate prey. An agent must have recognized him as he felt gun shots whizzed pass him, then into his flesh.

He fell down with a resounding thud on the street.

The emergency response team, who was already on the scene anticipating that violence would accompany the demonstration today, was beside Keenan shortly after he was shot.

The crowd broke out and panic erupted. Confusion reigned and the gunman used this advantage to escape unnoticed. McMillan, aware of the cameras shooting his every reaction, feigned distress and concern.

* * *

Inside the ambulance, Keenan felt each gunshot, all four of them. He was aware of blood loss that would soon cause him to experience delirium. Pushing the oxygen mask off his face, he attempted to speak.

"I don't understand what you're saying," Carly Jones, a nurse, replied in a no-nonsense tone. She had blond hair with streaks of gold, tied in a bun around her angular face. The wrinkles around her blue eyes made her look older than her 32 years. She patted his hand gently, in contrast to the deep pressure she exerted over his wounds. "Sir, don't try to talk, we're almost at the hospital."

A male emergency crew tried bandage his wounds, while another was taking his blood pressure and stats.

Blood from Keenan's punctured lung made its way to his throat, making speech difficult, almost impossible. "Give…to…Booth."

"Booth?"

Sensing the desperation, Jones leaned forward, closing the gap between her ear and Keenan's mouth. "Tell…her…don't…trust…anyone…else."

The words came out distorted and the siren blaring on top of the ambulance made hearing more difficult. Jones, however, made out a couple of words. "Don't trust who?"

"Please." Max attempted to reach back, wincing as each slight movement caused pain to wash through his entire body.

Figuring out what Keenan was trying to do, Jones assisted in lifting his side and pulled a white envelope from his back pocket. She saw a name written on it. _Temperance Brennan_

Keenan's eyes shut, making the simple movement of keeping his eyes open an enduring task. Valiantly, he tried to communicate again. "My…daughter…give…" Unfortunately, there were limits to what his body could tolerate as darkness claimed him.

The ambulance halted in front of the Emory Crawford Long Hospital. With efficient movements, the response team pushed the gurney through the doors and into the emergency room.

A couple of resident doctors met them and tried to revive Keenan as Jones pushed the gurney pass the admission counter and into the elevators, straight to the operating room.

After transferring her duties to the attending nurses and physicians, Jones breezed through the reception. Wiping blood stains on her uniform, she approached an elderly woman of African-American descent and requested, "Mari, locate a Temperance Brennan for me. She's related to the gun-shot victim that we just sent to OR."

Cradling a phone on her ear and writing notes at the same time, Mari asked, "Temperance Brennan, the writer?"

Jones hurriedly wrote her reports and signed, on her way to another call. "I don't know, but when she gets here, page me."

Mari suspected that an uncommon name such as Temperance Brennan could only mean that she was looking for the author who wrote the novel sitting on her night table. She contacted several places before successfully obtaining Brennan's cell phone number. Working in the emergency room also helped to have her inquiries taken seriously.

* * *

The surreal, and highly unusual, sense of premonition was heightened when Brennan heard her phone ringing. The television screens continued to show the aftermath of the shootings, confirming one casualty. Witnesses were being interviewed but no one knew what was going on.

Trembling hands held the cell phone. "Brennan."

"Hello, Dr. Brennan. This is Mari Legman calling from the Emory Crawford Long Hospital in Atlanta."

Blood drummed through Brennan's temples.

"Hello?"

Brennan gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles white. "Yes. I'm here."

"A colleague of yours gave me your number. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Dread filled her, making her chest hallow, narrowing her vision. "Who's hurt?"

"We don't have an ID on the patient, but he asked for you. He's in the OR, the doctors are operating on him right now. Do you have a family member living in Atlanta?"

Brennan didn't know anyone in Atlanta who would call for her on their deathbed. But her father was quite transient. "I'll be right there."

Brennan rushed out of the pub, knocking a glass half-filled with beer, causing it to drop on the floor. The breaking sound silenced the room as patrons watched helpless as each shard of glass flew in all directions.

Brennan reached the exit and hailed a taxi, pressing one on her speed dial. She got Booth's voicemail. "You've reach Special Agent Booth. Please leave a message."

A taxi appeared in no time and she stepped in. Shutting the door, she told the driver of her desired location. When she heard the beep, Brennan said in a distressed tone, "Booth, It's me. I think something bad happened to my dad. I'm still in Atlanta. Call me."

Brennan was unaware of the security team that pulled in the airport as her taxi drove away.

* * *

In the FBI interrogation room, Booth sat on a lone chair with handcuffs holding his hands together. Agent Belmar, a representative from Homeland security, paced in front of him. Booth would have been intimidated by his broad structure and mean face had he not been an agent himself and aware of their tactics. Director Cullen stood behind the two-way mirror, observing the proceedings.

Pausing, Agent Belmar asked, "Agent Booth, how closely do you work with Dr. Brennan?"

The headache that throbbed a few hours ago had developed into an annoying migraine. With clenched teeth, barely suppressing his anger, Booth replied. "She's my partner. We work on cases for the FBI if the victim is too badly decomposed for the forensic unit to identify."

"What are the bounds of your relationship?"

"I don't understand what you're insinuating."

"Let me say it plainly, Agent Booth." Agent Belmar leaned forward, menacingly. Booth wanted to knock the leer off the arrogant agent's face. "Do you and Dr. Brennan share a partnership beyond your working relationship?"

Stoically, Booth replied, "I don't understand the significance of that line of questioning"

Cullen, tense in the background, ordered through the intercom. "Answer the question, Booth. We want to clear you, not put you in jail."

Booth believed Cullen's words, but he doubted that it was Agent Belmar's intent. With contempt etched on Booth's well-structured features, he remained silent.

US Attorney Caroline Julian stepped in the interrogation room in a way only she could; sassy and authoritative. Eying the Homeland Security representative, she declared, "You are not questioning my client without me talking to him first. Especially not about his personal relationship with Dr. Brennan, should such relationship exist. You hear?"

Waving her hand, she ordered, "You're out of here, I need time with my client."

Agent Belmar stepped out, albeit reluctantly. When the observation room was cleared, Julian sighed. "Booth, what kind of a mess have you and your lady scientist gotten into?"

"Caroline, I wish I knew." Booth was so happy to see her, he would willingly sell his home to give her donut holes. "I honestly don't have any idea why they've brought me here. I was having lunch with Dr. Wyatt in my office, then the next thing I knew, I had guns pointed at me. I called you as soon as I could."

With a raised eyebrow, Julian informed Booth. "They're charging you with accessory to treason."

"What?" Booth couldn't believe what he was hearing.

She nodded, "Not only that, but they're charging Dr. Brennan with treason as well."

"Bones? I don't think she even knows what that means." This day was turning out to be more bizarre than Booth imagined.

Julian adjusted her salmon-colored sweater, leaning against the side of the table. "Having met her, I believe you. But try telling that to those agents looking for her. Apparently, she has escaped. She missed her flight in Atlanta and she's not in her lab."

Booth rubbed his face with his hands, the gesture being made difficult with the handcuffs. His head ached with worry and his chest pounded with fear. "Jesus, what's going on?"

"I think Dr. Brennan's father has something to do with this."

Booth dropped his head on the table, resisting the urge to pound it against the wood. "God help Keenan if something bad happen to her. I should have arrested him when I had a chance."

Julian huffed, "After what he did to my car, I'd arrest him myself."

Desperate, Booth clutched Caroline's hands tightly, "You need to help me get out of here. I need to find Bones, make sure she's okay."

* * *

_A/N: As always, reviews would be nice : )_


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